These People Are Us

By George Singleton

"A bouncer videotapes an episode of Bonanza over his wife's sonogram and scrambles to find a replacement, an ex-poet takes a job driving a van that provides mammograms, and an office-supply salesman falls for a woman from an all-girl wrestling revue in a town called Kingdom Come in George Singleton's These People Are Us."--Publishers Weekly

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dzanc Books
• Release date: Apr 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781938103520

George Singleton

GEORGE SINGLETON lives in Pickens County, South Carolina, with ceramicist Glenda Guion and their mixture of strays. More than a hundred of his stories have been published nationally in magazines and anthologies. He teaches writing at the South Carolina Governor's School for the Arts and Humanities.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my writer-friends Dale Ray Phillips, Ron Rash, and Marlin Barton for knowing and talking about things other than writing. I am indebted to the valuable minds of Fred Chappell, Richard Bausch, Jim Clark, Robert Watson, and Gil Allen, though maybe I didn't listen to them enough. I wish to thank the magazine and journal editors, especially Christopher Napolitano, Alice K. Turner, Stephen Corey, and Michael Griffith. 

Thanks to Jim Davis at River City Press, and of course to Wayne Greenhaw—bon vivant, fine writer, humanitarian—for making this book possible.

Beverly Singleton deserves a sweeping bow for being a patient, understanding, flexible, know-when-to-look-the-other-way mother.

And finally, I remember my father—merchant seaman and wild storyteller-for forcing me to listen closely and watch peripherally at all times.

Remember Why We’re Here

MY WIFE KEPT TALKING about convection ovens. I thought she said conviction at first—which brought up weird capital punishment visions—and then I thought she said confection, even though we don't eat that much candy outside of the holidays. Already we owned a microwave, and a regular electric thing that didn't broil full in the house that she bought outright. On the porch was a hibachi I'd had since before meeting her, and a larger gas grill I didn't trust, seeing as flames seemed to pour out of the bottom more often than not. I'd read an article one time about some poor insurance salesman or banker outside with a spatula in his hand when a stray bullet hit his tank. His family saw everything, too.

My wife said, There's a new self-cleaning convection wall oven out that can cook a thirty-five-pound turkey. It can cook a dozen loaves of bread. It has a convection roast mode, and a convection bake, and a thermal bake.

I said, "Thermal bake? What does that mean, Jerilyn? What do you want to cook that needs a setting called thermal? Why don't you wait a couple years and I bet they come up with something catering to people who need different circles of hell." It just came to me, like that.

She said, For piping-hot casseroles, and from the way she said it I knew she'd been memorizing some advertisement. Jerilyn said, Convection ovens use circulating heated air around foods, which roasts meats faster while leaving them beautifully browned outside and juicy inside.

I kept a can of Sterno in my backpack, too. There were dry sticks out in the yard, and probably pieces of flint scattered around somewhere. I'd never been in the Boy Scouts, but a couple of my buddies growing up were, and they taught me how to build a fire, tie a knot, and skin a snake. I said, I don't know how to say this. I know I said when I came into some money it was yours for what you wanted, Jerilyn. But I thought you'd have something more in mind like a swimming pool or a good mini-van. We don't have a swimming pool or a mini-van. But we do have ovens. We have stoves. We got us some appliances, is what I'm saying.

Jerilyn did not stick her bottom lip out and pout. She stared me in the face and made it clear how circulating heated air was the best thing for us. She said, I want the convection oven to go in the kitchen of our new mountain cabin up past Tryon, and unrolled one of those free real estate guides she always picked up off racks outside of places we went that served all-you-can-eat buffets. She said, Some guy just bought most of the whole top of White Oak Mountain where there used to be a Baptist church camp. I called the real-estate agent, and she said they tore down all the old stone structures and strategically placed the rocks in the lake so bass and bream would bed better. She said, The developer started in on a dozen little cabins around the lake, but ran out of money and wants to sell them off fast.

Jerilyn nodded and kept eye contact. For some reason, I said, Why'd the Baptist church camp go under? I thought Baptists still thrived hard here. I said, I bet there are a bunch of rattlesnakes and copperheads up on that mountain, and I bet those Baptists were a little on the charismatic side. I didn't go into more detail about probable snake-handling and lack of antivenin.

You said you're finally the man of the house, Spoon, Jerilyn said. She wouldn't take my last name when we got married, but she sure used it more than my first.

Circulating heated air that roasts meats faster. Thirty-five-pound turkey, I said, walking towards the answering machine. I better think of more and better things for the babies of America.

Uh-huh, she said.

WE'D JUST GOTTEN BACK from visiting Jerilyn's cousins down in Charleston. They wanted to throw a little party for me, seeing as I'd finally made it, in their eyes. In the past, I'd always tried to find a way out of these visits, seeing as I felt somewhat the odd ball. I didn't have family money, I went to college and tried to do well, and I didn't have two houses on the same island. I said, Well, I guess that hot-air theme kind of runs in your family, doesn't it, Jerilyn?

The week before, I'd gotten my first check from the lawyer who took care of whatever needed getting done. I'd come up with a line of baby diapers that had LOADING ZONE emblazoned on the back side. The people up in New York said that it was perfect timing—that kids now had a new fascination with heavy equipment, and that a tiny picture of a dump truck releasing its load on the back of a kid's butt was just what America needed to remember its blue-collar roots. I even got an offer for a regular 9-to-5 job with an ad agency up there, but said I'd rather stick to teaching at the technical college where I had enough time to come up with new ideas. Jerilyn said something about how I must not have that much time or I'd've come up with more than one idea in a decade.

Anyway, we went down to Charleston and ended up with cousin Dargan—who went by Dar, which always sounded kind of stupid and Cro-Magnon at best—and his sister, Ashley. Ashley's good-hearted doctor-husband, Sam, and their two kids were there, plus Dar's latest girlfriend named—get this—Anise, who got some weird theology degree from a place I'm sure sent diplomas through the mail, but it gave her the right to preach at a church way left of the Unitarians. I'm no psychiatrist, but I'd take bets that Anise got called Anus a bunch of her life, and joined the odd church in order to cast hexes on old high school classmates.

We sat there at a table for however many people we needed, one block off of the Market. The waiter came up and took our drink orders. This was not a typical tourist restaurant, either. There were no fishnets filled with starfish hanging from the ceiling. There were no fake sailfish on the walls.

There were no prices on the menu, is what I'm saying.

Dar was last and said, I'll have one of your house microbeers, but don't bring it with so much attitude, man. Dar'd sold real estate in the past, but now talked about going to New Mexico in order to learn about pressure points, channeling, acupuncture, aroma therapy—you name it. Dar still had a broken-off needle in his arm, if that matters, from the old days when he went to college and didn't care about doing well 'cause he knew he had family money and would end up owning two houses on one island.

Sam leaned over the table and said, Don't start up, Dar. Remember why we're here. We were there, of course, to celebrate my newfound success. While I'm at it, could you please watch your language around the kids?

Well, this didn't go over well at all. Even though Dar cherished the wayward-family-member archetype, he always bowed up when confronted with his behavior in public. Dar said, Why we're here? I thought we came here to have a good time, man. The waiter acted like he had to go stomp hops and barley by himself. I don't need that.

Sam and Ashley's girl said, Your name's Anise, pronouncing it the wrong way.

Dar said, Goddamnit. You tell your own girl to watch her mouth. I did not come to wish Spoon well, and then have to listen to people talking about buttholes all night long.

I said, Hey, all diminuendo.

Dar sat back and stared at his knee.

Ashley said, Loading Zone! That's so cute. It almost makes me want to have another baby. How much money are you going to make off this deal, Spoon?

The waiter brought our drinks and served Dar first. He didn't say anything. I squeezed Jerilyn's knee under the table twice to let her know I wasn't comfortable. I may not come from some kind of aristocratic family, but my parents knew enough about minding their own business. I said, I get a lump sum up front, and then a penny for each diaper sold. They're going to be marketed in twelve and twenty-four packs. I got a good lawyer. I squeezed the leg again, once and long, which I consider the international sign for keep quiet. My parents taught me to mind my own business—and lie big.

That's great, Sam said. He came from a working-class Chicago family, and out of everyone in Jerilyn's family I connected with him best. When he talked about my liver, he didn't preach.

I said, Thanks. Anise looked at me and moved her lips. I said, What? but then realized that she chanted or something.

Dar said, When I was in college, I beat off into a sock so much I grew a toenail on my pecker. He held his right hand in a loose fist, poured beer into the cup he'd made with his fingers, and said, Look at me—I'm getting my date for tonight drunk!

Sam got his children up first, then Ashley ran after them.

Anise said, Your family doesn't understand that you offer them unconditional love, Dar. They don't yet know agape.

Dar held his eyebrows high, shook his head in disbelief, and said, Did you see those entities coming out of my sister's chest? Man, no wonder her husband's projecting so much. I wish they could see what I can see. I can tell two things—when meat's gone bad, and when a bad marriage is going on.

I caught myself nodding up and down until we finally left for that hotel room my wife said we'd checked into, but hadn't really. We'd always stayed with Dar before. Jerilyn talked about how our suitcases were already inside the Holiday Inn, et cetera. I caught myself thinking about a more peaceful time, like when I got hit by a car at age twelve, or like a couple years later when I cut off my thumb up at my dad's shop and had to get it sewn back on.

This, of course, happened before my knowledge of convection ovens. Had it happened after, I'd've caught myself thinking of perfect heat, too.

THE MAN WHO YEARNED to transform most of White Oak mountain from a defunct Baptist camp into a circle of modern tin-roofed A-frames with lofts had got caught poking a female contractor who'd come down from this experimental design school in Vermont to work on the project. That was the real estate agent's story. That was why the cabins had unfinished interiors and low prices. She said that ours wasn't made by that developer, though, that ours was bought and unfinished by another man totally, like it'd matter. The big developer didn't get his hands on everything, was her story.

About two minutes after I gave in to the oven, Jerilyn and I drove the sixty miles north to our cabin. The real estate agent's name was Penny. Although I normally don't trust people named after currency, or people in the same line of work that Dar'd been in before getting all spiritual, she and I hit it off well. Penny offered my wife and me cigars.

Is your real name Spoon, Spoon? Penny said when we got out of her car. She drove a regular car, a Ford something.

I said, My last name's Spoon. Everybody's always called me Spoon. My first name is normal. Call me Spoon.

Jerilyn walked alone to the edge of the lake and turned around. She said, With all the trees, you can hardly even see this cabin here.

I said, Trees have limbs that get heavy in winter. They crack and fall on the roof.

Penny said, ''You could cut them down. Or you could learn how to lay tin. Your insurance will pay for it, Spoon."

Jerilyn yelled, I've always wanted to grow a shade garden. We're not cutting down any of these trees. Our other house doesn't have trees, and I’m tired of planting only corn, tomatoes, and peppers.

There was no one on the lake. That made me think that maybe some dead Baptists were submerged and it spooked people away. Penny said, This lot here is three-quarters of an acre, and you have the creek on your property. She held out a map. The land wedged right into the lake, almost halfway in.

I said, I can roof. I can also nail down one-by-twelve planks on the particle board for the floor, and insulate the walls, and put up drywall. I know how to do those kinds of jobs. A lot of people think pine's too soft for flooring, but you get a good kiln-dried southern yellow pine and it's good. I don't want no tongue-and-groove .

Penny folded up the map. Jerilyn skipped toward us. You'll have to get a licensed electrician and plumber. There's a permit for the septic tank. I think it'll go over there, Penny said, pointing to the side of the property farthest from the creek. She said, You can get something called builder's risk insurance until the cabin's finished. It'll cover if the place burns or if someone gets hurt.

I said, I only believe in car insurance. You see, if you start feeling puny and think you've come down with a major illness, all you got to do is get in a car wreck and yell out, 'Ow, I got whiplash! I got cirrhosis of the liver, too!' I'm pretty sure it's a scam you can get away with.

We walked inside and within a minute Jerilyn figured out where the sink would go and the refrigerator. She told Penny how she'd seen a glass-doored china cabinet on sale at one of the junk stores in town already. My wife held her hands out three feet, pointed to the wall as if she were bringing in a 747 at the runway, and said, This is where the convection oven will go.

I looked up at the hole in the ceiling. I would have to make a staircase, or buy one of those pre-fab wrought iron spiral things. I'd have to invest some of my Loading Zone diaper money into that series of do-it-yourself books sold on late-night television. This might be too much for us, Jerilyn, I said. We can afford something that costs a little more and takes less work.

Penny said, People never plan to die, but they die to plan.

I didn't know what that meant. It sounded like something taught at a pep rally for insurance agents. You can do a lot with this place. If you want to cover the area underneath you'd have basically a three-story house, Penny said. I think that's a good idea about what you mentioned about making a patio under the front porch, she added. Then she held her hand to her mouth.

I said, I've been here the whole time and haven't heard about any patio. Who said something about a patio? I didn't say anything about it. Jerilyn was down at the lake doing her thumb like some kind of old master portrait artist. She didn't say anything about a patio.

Penny tried to cover herself. She turned her back to me, looked at the wall, and said, What do you teach at the tech college, Spoon?

I said, Logic, speech, and rhetoric, which wasn't really true.

Penny turned around and looked at my wife. Jerilyn said, I've been up here a couple times already, Spoon. As a matter of fact, I've already written a check for the earnest money for the place and agreed to what the man selling wants to get.

In the old days I'd've gotten mad. Well, in the old days Jerilyn could've pulled out a hundred grand from one of her trust funds, which were growing at the same rate my student loans were, because of the default, and she could've bought anything. I'd've pouted then, feeling that I wasn't man enough to be a man. But now just catching her and Penny trying to act suave gave me enough satisfaction. I said, Earnest money?

Jerilyn said to Penny, Spoon doesn't know what that means. To me she said, I had to put down a check that said we wanted to hold it until we checked everything out. Earnest money isn't cashed, and it goes against the bid.

I looked at that big hole in the ceiling where the stairwell would go. I said I knew what earnest meant. I said, Did you check to see if there're termites, Jerilyn?

Penny said, Termites don't eat into cedar siding, Spoon.

I said, I know. I'm just checking on you two, again, and caught myself nodding just like in the priceless restaurant. I said, I can probably afford to quit teaching for a year and finish this place off. I made a point of saying I wanted to close the deal as soon as possible.

My wife and my real estate agent did some kind of double holding-of-hands thing I'd only heard about. It looked a little like this contra-dancing special I'd seen on the local news. On the way home I said to Jerilyn, How long have you known Penny?

She said, About a month. Actually I met her outside of all this. Right before you got the good news is when we met. Right after, I happened to pick up the real estate guide and see the cabin. It was some kind of synchronicity thing, Spoon.

We took all the switchbacks slowly, and stopped completely for vistas and waterfalls. I said, Some kind of karma thing, huh? Some kind of predestination, that's what you're saying.

Jerilyn sat there. She looked out the window. In the distance, a redtail hovered, almost still. My wife said, Don't compare me to Dar. I see what's coming.

So how did y'all meet before? I want to know this story about y' all meeting before I sold the diapers. A work truck pulled over so we could get by. I waved, as neighbors-to-be should.

Jerilyn said, The first day I came up to the cabin there was this old man on the other side of the lake pulling fish out every time he threw in his hook. Is a pound a good-sized bluegill? He said he'd caught eight one-pound bluegill. I didn't know if that was good or not. I told him my husband once caught a four-pound brown trout fly-fishing. Remember that time you caught that big thing, Spoon?

It was a gravel road, and every vista point had a house owned by the same people Zarathustra passed on the way down, I'm sure. It came to me, just like that. I said, Hey, hey, don't change what I asked you. Where'd you meet that real estate woman before you met her again?

When my wife told me she'd not really joined a bowling league, that she really joined a church of women that only met on Thursday nights, and that the congregation sat in a circle and talked about their bad childhoods, I wasn't surprised. Per usual, I didn't mention that my father spent some time unemployed, or his physical disability, or how he whipped my butt when I needed it.

I drove and paid attention.

Jerilyn said, We've been married ten years this Halloween, Spoon. You can't hold it against me for wondering if things could be better. I just wanted to hear other women tell their stories. I'm not in love with anyone else, if that's what you want to know.

Of course I didn't exactly hear her, and asked where she got the address for women meeting to complain. I asked her if she'd been watching all those talk shows in the afternoon. I said, What, have you seen some entities flying out of my chest or something?

My wife put her hand on my leg. She laughed and patted and shook her head like a wet dog. She said, Spoon, we're not on this land for very long, considering. It's okay to strive for more. What I learned when it comes to marriage: it's better to ditch a plan, than plan a ditch.

I damn near missed a curve right then.

BY ACCIDENT I CALLED the lawyer's dog the lawyer's first name. The lawyer kept her cocker spaniel in the office for some reason.

I don't know if she did a bunch of work for the SPCA. The lawyer's name was Baiba Brousseau. Jerilyn couldn't come close to saying it, really. I'd taken enough French in my lifetime to say the last name, but I still wasn't sure about the first.

I practiced, Ba-ee-ba, Ba-ee-ba, Ba-ee-ba, forever. It seemed like a trick to me.

We went in to sign the papers, and the dog came up, and Baiba said, "That's Daisy Mae.

Reviews for These People Are Us

[bjkelley · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Another Great Collection from the master of the humorous Southern short story.

[hagelstein_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

George Singleton features male protagonists with marriage problems and quirky jobs. Ethnic pantyhose salesman, diaper inventor, pre-bouncer in a bar. They are usually educated, self-aware yet clueless, beleaguered by life – and women in particular. They are deadly funny. And deadpan funny. “I drank Old Crow mixed with ginger ale and milk thistle to help replenish my liver.”The stories in this early collection aren’t quite as honed as his later stories but are still exceedingly biting, witty and odd-ball brilliant.